


I'm Due For A Miracle

by JBankai89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Underage, M/M, Oneshot, PostWar, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“These are dangerous times, Mr Potter. If you love something, you can lose it just as easily.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Due For A Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Everything in italics is flashbacks, save the first paragraph which is a dream sequence. I needed a break from my longass Drarry fic, and this happened. It's more word-vomit than anything else, and I thought it was cute so I figured I'd post it. I hope you guys enjoy it. Some of the flashbacks are out of sequence. That was deliberate, it was intended to be memories as they came to Harry, so I hope it doesn't get confusing.

I'm Due For A Miracle

 

_Long, deft fingers traced the contours of his face. Every touch committed to memory. His lover leaned forward with an impassioned groan. His straight, black locks tumbled over his shoulders and tickled his back,“Harry...” Damp skin on skin, every touch a burning delight, dark eyes staring intensely into his own, drawing out the moment, he never wanted it to end—_

 

Harry woke in an empty bed with tears in his eyes.

It wasn't the first time, and he doubted that it would be the last. Hiccoughing and roughly wiping away the dampness, he reached for his glasses. Relief washed over him at the fact that Ron and Hermione had moved out of Grimmauld Place some years earlier. He no longer had to explain himself every time he woke from one of his fevered dreams, for which he was deeply grateful.

Shaking off the remnants of his dream, Harry stood and stepped over to the full-length mirror. His eyes were puffy, his jaw was dotted with morning stubble, and the circles under his eyes had taken on a bruising quality. He was deathly pale, and Harry knew that not much colour would return as he regained his calm. He'd been out of the world too long, hidden away from the press, his friends, and his pseudo-family. Ventures outside were done under cover of darkness, and only then to replenish necessities like food and toilet paper.

No one had seen Harry Potter for years, not even his best friends.

Harry's mind jumped back to the dream. His stomach rolled, and he pressed his burning forehead against the glass of the mirror. _Why can't I let him go?_ The list of the dead was burned into Harry's brain, each funeral he'd attended following that fateful Spring was as harrowing as the last. He took them, placed them in their own little memorial in his mind and heart, and left it at that.

But not with Severus.

Potions Master, ex-Death Eater, War Hero, Grade-A Bastard. Harry smiled weakly as memory overlapped memory.

 

_“Why are you here Potter?”_

_“I wanted to see you.”_

_“How delightful, I'm touched. Go away.” The Potions Master slammed the door in Harry's face._

 

~*~

 

_“You are aware, of course, that you're breaking about fifty school rules in being here.”_

_Harry readjusted his position on Severus's lap, and the older man broke his intense stare to arch his head back and hiss with delight. “Gonna give me detention Professor?”_

 

~*~

 

_“Take...it....take...it...”_

 

Harry's breath hitched, and tears sprung to his eyes again. “Damn it, damn it, _damn it._ ” He sunk to his knees, his breathing shallow. Harry made no move to try to compose himself. “Why did you have to die?” His own voice sounded strange in his ears, and he again cursed the memory of Voldemort, the man who'd taken his _one good thing_ away from him.

 

_“I love you, you know.”_

_“I heard you the first fifteen times, Mr Potter. Why are you repeating yourself?” Harry shifted closer to the warm, naked form next to him in the bed. He rested his head against Severus's chest, and he coiled an arm protectively around Harry's shoulders._

_“Because I wasn't sure you believed me.”_

_“These are dangerous times, Mr Potter. If you love something, you can lose it just as easily.”_

 

Harry stared down at his breakfast, uncertain when he'd made it to the main level of the derelict house, or when he'd been lucid enough to cook. The evidence sat before him on a cracked plate, eggs and toast, slightly charred along the edges. The house was silent.

 

_“Are you ever going to call me Harry?”_

_“Is what name I call you by really that important?”_

_“Well since you just had your cock in my arse I think a little familiarity wouldn't be too much to ask.” He grinned, and shifted to wedge himself more securely into the embrace of his lover._

_“As eloquent as ever, I see...Harry.”_

 

Children ran and played out in the square beyond Grimmauld Place's property line. Their shrieking giggles of delight did not permeate the windows, but the evidence was on their faces. Harry watched them, and tried to siphon off some of of their joy. He could see the overgrown hedges of his front lawn move abnormally, and he could make out the shape of someone under a disillusionment charm. He quickly stepped out of sight of the window and closed the curtains seconds before the flash of the camera went off.

 

_“I put a silencing charm on the door Severus. Would you stop being such a paranoid bastard and come to bed?”_

_“I did not survive this long only to be murdered by Molly Weasley for ravishing her surrogate son.” He flicked his wand here and there around the door and walls, testing the strength of Harry's charm._

_“She wouldn't murder you,” Harry scoffed, but he couldn't completely wipe the grin from his face. “She might chop off certain choice body parts, but I don't think she'd go as far as actually murdering you.”_

_“You're such a comfort.”_

_“I do what I can.”_

_Severus finally set his wand down on the bedside table, and smirked at his young lover. He braced his knees on either side of Harry's hips, and pressed his palms into the duvet on either side of his head. Severus enveloped him in a commanding kiss._

 

A sharp tapping on the sitting room window jarred Harry from his memories. Grumbling in annoyance, he peeled himself off the threadbare sofa and padded to the window. An ancient barn own sat on his sill, eyeing him in an almost accusing way for making it wait so long. Harry unlatched the window. “Get out of here,” Harry said, waving his hand halfheartedly to shoo the bird away. “Everyone knows that I don't accept owl post anymore. Piss off.”

How the bird got through his warding spells was a question for another day. The owl was having none of Harry's dismissing and it lurched forward and snapped at his fingers. Harry hissed in pain when it carved a fairly deep gash across his pointer finger with its beak. Grumbling, Harry stepped back and wrapped the bloody finger in the cloth of his T-shirt. The owl took the opportunity to flutter inside and stick out its leg expectantly. Tied there was a minute scroll of tattered parchment.

He grudgingly took the scroll from the owl, it took off at once, and Harry latched the door again before heading off to find some bandages.

 

_“I never pegged you for the romantic type,” Harry mused, easing back on the checkered blanket. He was thoroughly enjoying the sensation of the sea air filling his lungs, and the calming rush of surf breaking ten feet away._

_“I'm not, generally. Somehow my self-imposed rules break whenever you're involved.” Severus plucked a grape from the bunch and brushed the fruit along Harry's lower lip._

_“Yeah, I usually have that effect.” He grinned and plucked the fruit from Severus's fingers with his teeth._

 

Finger wadded in a knobbly bandage—Harry was never much good at healing spells—he picked up the tiny scroll and eyed it dubiously. He hadn't received mail in over three years, at first from turning away owls, then later he learned how to shield the house from them. He turned it over in his fingers, almost afraid to see who would go to such lengths to contact him. No one living cared that much. He'd killed Voldemort. His work was done. Why couldn't the world just leave him alone with his memories?

 

_“That was...different.”_

_“Hmm.” Severus rolled over following his noncommittal grunt, and coiled an arm around Harry's waist, his palm resting flat against his chest._

_“I'm not sure I liked it...”_

_“I didn't hear you complaining.” The low purr sent a wave of pleasure through him, and he snuggled back into the embrace._

_“No, I mean...I don't like how much it felt like...”_

_“Like what, Harry?”_

_“Goodbye.”_

 

Harry unrolled the minute scroll, and stared at it before he could wrap his mind around what he was seeing. Instead of handwriting, the short letter had been composed by a typewriter of some sort, the print was so exact he couldn't imagine a normal human writing that way. He looked down at the words. He read them again. Harry slowed his mind and eyes, and read the words a third time.

 

_When we two parted_

_In silence and tears,_

_Half broken-hearted_

_To sever for years_

_Ministry of Magic Atrium. Tomorrow, 5pm._

 

Harry fell heavily into the nearest chair, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the parchment in his hand. He trembled, and for a moment he struggled to hold fast to the letter. Was this someone's idea of a sick _joke_? He stared at the parchment again, his fingers brushing over the indented words, and he felt his rage bubbling up. He stood and strode over the the fire grate. “ _Incendio_.” the spell shot from his wand tip and a fire crackled to life in the hearth. Harry hesitated for a second longer, the parchment still clutched tightly in his hand, then he crumpled it up and tossed it into the flames.

 

Except the sender was apparently not content to be ignored. Harry watched as the wadded parchment landed in the centre of the flames, but did not catch. It quivered, then rolled out of the fire, across the stone floor, stopping at Harry's feet. The parchment uncrumpled itself and lay smooth and flat upon the ground. The message upon the parchment had changed.

 

 

_Mr Potter_

 

Harry shivered. He could practically hear the tone through the paper.

 

 

~*~

 

Harry was glad he hadn't eaten anything that day. His stomach was knotted so tightly with panic that it was unlikely he'd be able to keep anything down. He stood before the his fire grate, shaking as he awaited for the allotted time to come. Harry knew this could be someone's idea of a joke, a ruse to lure him back into a world he wanted desperately to escape from. In the back of his mind, was the slim glimmer of hope that maybe, just _maybe_ it was all true. No one knew about him and Severus, especially while he was still at school. That pointed towards the likelihood that against all odds his lover had somehow survived.

Whatever happened, it would be big.

Harry pinched the glittering powder between trembling fingers, and cast it into the flames. “M-Minstry of Magic Atrium.” In a stomach-churning swirl of green flame, he was gone.

The atrium was crowded. Harry felt a wave of panic wash over him; it was more people than he'd seen in a very long time. He fought down the urge to race back to Grimmauld Place. He stepped out of the fireplace and looked around. He felt incredibly stupid, wondering why in the seven hells he actually _believed_ the note. Now that Harry was out in the open, people were jostling and backtracking to get a good look at him, or trying to stop him for a word of thanks, or attempt to shake his hand. He brushed them all off, while his eyes searched the crowd.

 

_“D'you think we'll ever...y'know, be able to be open about...well, us?” Severus moved his hand from Harry's chest to run through his hair, then resettled it upon Harry's waist. Harry's back was pressed into Severus's chest, and in his sleepy afterglow frame of mind, he waited with bated breath for the answer._

_“It's difficult to say,” the non-answer irritated Harry, and Severus seemed to sense it as he pressed on. As he spoke, one of his hands casually slipped between the young man's legs. Harry's breath hitched, and he pressed his head backward into the crook of Severus's neck. “Perhaps if by some miracle we come out of this war in one piece, we will be able to. I don't want to make a promise to you that I cannot keep.”_

 

The tittering crowd stood back, but watched Harry's every move with hawklike intensity. The attention succeeded only in worsening his anxiety, despite his attempts to ignore it. Across the resplendent hall, Harry's eyes found his. He strode with purpose across the atrium, struggling to keep himself from running. Severus smiled minutely, and watched him with an intensity Harry had deeply missed in the years he'd spent alone.

Severus waited for him patiently, dressed in his trademark billowing robes. The only change in his appearance was the presence of a black cane, which he seemed to be bracing a good portion of his weight on. Harry stopped just short of him, only vaguely aware of the gathered spectators to their reunion, as well as the occasional camera flash.

“You're not dead.”

“Decidedly no.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Harry struggled to keep his tone businesslike, but despite his best efforts his voice cracked, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. He wasn't keen to burst into tears before an audience.

“I was in no condition to, unfortunately. Given that no one was aware of our...liaisons, so to speak, there was no way to convey to you that I was not dead.” He paused, and observed Harry with a small smile, so faint that he doubted that their audience would catch it. “I am sorry, Harry.”

Harry took another small step forward, ignoring the apology. “As far as being open about _us_...This is one helluva big step.”

“I believe having your friends and surrogate family find out at a safe distance might be best.” His eyes glittered with amusement, and Harry cracked a grin.

Harry closed the distance between them. The shocked gasps of the crowd, the flashes of the cameras—it was nonsensical white noise. Nothing else mattered but the man that stood before him. Severus enveloped him in those voluminous robes, Harry reached up to wrap his arms around his neck. After three years apart, their lips met.

Harry reluctantly broke the kiss, and placed his hand in Severus's free one. “Let's go home,” he murmured, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The crowd parted for them. Harry smirked when he recognized a few of the gobsmacked spectators, but he paid them no mind. He had eyes only for the man that walked next to him.

That night, Harry and Severus re-acquainted themselves with one another. In the realm between satisfaction and sleep, Harry realized that sometimes, miracles are worth the waiting.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Passage is from When We Two Parted by George Gordon Byron


End file.
